Rosie Dixon - Confessions from a Package Tour

Something in Janine Arkright’s eyes suggests to me that the German Tourist Board may be failing in its objective and I draw Penny to one side. ‘Are you sure this is the place?’ I ask. ‘It doesn’t seem like a hotel to me.’

‘We’re a bit far away to be certain,’ says Penny. ‘But I know what you mean. Let’s go and have a look anyway. We’ll soon know when we ask.’

‘It doesn’t seem likely that there are two castles, does it?’ I say. I know I am sounding worried but I have just seen a signpost to ‘Schloss Badschweinfart’ made from what looks like the headboard of a coffin. I know that the German sense of humour is supposed to be a trifle heavy-handed but this seems to be going too far.

The road zig-zags up the side of the cliff and a sinister wind rattles the windows of the coach. I look down and see a silver ribbon of water winding hundreds of feet below. That must be the Rhine. And to think that I thought this place was romantic when I first saw a photograph of it. Whoever said that the camera cannot lie must be a terrible fibber. I have seen photographs of holiday camps that looked more attractive.

‘The view’s nice, isn’t it?’ I say, remembering Reggy’s instructions to keep cheerful at all times.

‘Not if you’re facing the castle,’ says tactless Penny – honestly, I could give her wrist a stinging slap sometimes.

We have pulled up outside two huge wooden doors studded with nails and Penny and I look at each other. ‘Are you going to ask?’ I say.

‘We’ll do it together,’ says Penny.

I am loath to set foot outside the coach and the cold feeling that creeps into my bones is not caused only by the tetchy wind that rattles the rusty chain hanging beside the heavy doors. Penny gives the chain a tug and after what seems like several seconds’ silence we hear a bell ringing in a distant part of the castle.

‘This must be the wrong place,’ says Penny.

‘Just what I was thinking,’ I say. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

We are locking shoulders in the doorway of the coach when there is the sound of bolts being slid back and a key turning in a lock. Ruefully, we turn round and find ourselves face to face with the man who has just opened one of the doors. He has a long, lean face of an unhealthy parchment hue and is wearing a scruffy black jacket with a wing collar. A large yellow frog hops over one of his feet and disappears round the side of the castle.

‘Hello,’ I say brightly. ‘We’re from Climax. Are you expecting us?’

The man gazes wistfully after the frog and then turns his puzzled eyes on us. ‘Climax?’ he says in a thick German accent. ‘Iz zat Koblenz near?’

A great feeling of relief surges over me. ‘No,’ I say. ‘There’s obviously been some mistake. Sorry to have –’

‘Wait!’ The man sticks his head round the door like a tortoise peering out of its shell. ‘Ah! You from England come, nein? I have letter in my laboratory. Herr Spanzwick has made arrangements.’

‘Spanswick?’ I say. ‘I don’t know anybody called –’

Penny plucks at my sleeve. ‘It’s one of Malcolm’s aliases,’ she whispers. ‘He uses it for the Transylvanian Medical Research Company.’

‘Malcolm?’ I say. ‘You mean Reggy?’ I do wish that our boss would cut down on the number of names he uses. It gets terribly confusing sometimes. And all these businesses he seems to be involved in. I thought there was only Climax Tours when I first met him.

‘You had better in come,’ says the man, rubbing his hands together. ‘You are much needed – I mean, velcomen. My name iz Professor Stein – Frederick N Stein – at ze service of medical science.’ He gives an eerie cackling laugh.

‘Fred N Stein,’ says Penny thoughtfully. ‘It rings a bell, doesn’t it?’

Professor Stein leans forward confidentially. ‘Are any members of ze party zick?’ His eyes light up and I experience a feeling of fear as I wonder why he has asked such a strange question.

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